


When We Were Young

by ValueVices



Series: Signs of Love [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Astraphobia, Caspar is hyper, Children, First Meeting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lin is a sick kid, M/M, Running Away, baby gays, ferdinand is there too, they fight crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-09-23 22:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20348086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValueVices/pseuds/ValueVices
Summary: Stories about Linhardt von Hevring and Caspar von Bergliez as children; how they meet and become friends.Chapter four: Caspar runs away from home, and ends up at Linhardt's house.





	1. First Contact

Linhardt was bored. This wasn’t unusual for him; he’d been confined to bed for the better part of the month, and it was the third time this year already he’d been bedridden for this long. The doctor had come by earlier, to perform yet another examination, and worse, take another blood sample.

Afterwards, she had talked to his father in the hallway. They had forgotten to close the door completely, and Linhardt had heard them.

“You still haven’t found out what’s wrong?” asked his father, sounding agitated.

“Well, there’s more tests...” said the doctor.

“Run them then,” snapped his father.

“Yes, of course,” said the doctor.

Now, alone in the room, watching the dust motes drift in the thin shaft of sunlight peeking through the curtained window, Linhardt leaned his head back against the pillow and sighed. More tests. Always more tests.

He wondered if he was always going to be stuck in bed like this.

It wasn’t like he hated it. Sleeping was one of his favorite things to do, after all, and you didn’t need to go outside to read books. Although, it would be nice to sit in the sun and read...

He glanced towards the bookshelf in the corner. He’d already finished the books on his bedside table, and nobody had come by his room to bring him new ones since the doctor left. The servants were all busy; somebody important was supposedly coming to the manor today, to visit his father. It suited Linhardt just fine that he was too sick to be subjected to an introduction—it was terribly boring to have to listen to guests talk while he had to pretend to be polite and listen.

But it did mean that there probably wouldn’t be anybody to check on him until evening. He weighed his choices. He could get up and go retrieve new books himself, but...honestly, he wasn’t sure he could make it all the way across the room and back without fainting. Having his blood taken always made him dizzy. He could also just sleep. Sleeping was nice. But he’d been sleeping for so much of the day already...

He didn’t get a chance to think further than this, because the sound of shouting and running footsteps reached his ears from beyond the still cracked open door to the room.

“What’s going on?!” said the voice of one of the servants.

“Fire in the kitchen! We need hands!” called back another.

“Did anybody see where that kid went?” said somebody else.

“Check the east wing!”

The sounds were already starting to move away from the corridor—towards the kitchen, probably. A fire? For a moment, Linhardt worried that his books might be in danger, but, if the fire was threatening, surely somebody would have come to retrieve him. It would be taken care of, and the day would go on, just as boring as—

The door creaked as somebody slipped inside the room.

It was a boy, perhaps Linhardt’s age. He’d turned his back on the room almost as soon as he’d stepped inside it to per back into the corridor; he must not have noticed Linhardt in the bed. All Linhardt could tell from this angle was that he had blue hair and his clothes were rumpled—they seemed too fine to be a servant’s, but he wasn’t sure if they were a noble’s clothes, either. A merchant’s son, perhaps? Was that the guest his father was entertaining?

“Excuse me,” he said, after a moment passed and the boy still hadn’t turned around.

Now he did, and quickly, raising his fists in front of his face. “Who’s there?! I—oh.” He relaxed, and Linhardt could see his face now: wide eyes, snub nose. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking sheepish. “Um, sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Yes,” said Linhardt, because he was already annoyed at the unwanted intrusion, and he was hoping it would make the boy go away quicker.

“How come you were asleep?” the boy said instead. “It’s the middle of the day. Oh! Are you like, um, one of those sleeping princesses? In the stories?” he stepped towards the bed eagerly.

Linhardt’s hands clutched at his blankets. “I’m not a girl,” he said.

“Huh? But your hair’s all long...” said the boy, stopping too close for comfort. He peered more closely at Linhardt’s face. “Hmm, okay, I guess you could be a boy.”

“I am Linhardt von Hevring,” said Linhardt, sitting up straighter in the bed. Maybe if the boy knew who he was, he would understand that he should leave.

“I’m Caspar,” said the boy. “So, if you’re not a princess, how come you’re in bed?”

Ugh. It wasn’t working. “I’m sick,” said Linhardt irritably.

“Oh,” said the boy, Caspar. “Sorry.”

More footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Caspar jumped, looking back towards the door. “Don’t tell me you’re the one they’re looking for?” said Linhardt.

Caspar turned towards him again, looking guilty. “Y-yeah...I didn’t mean to do it, honest! My father said not to get in the way, so I was just looking around, and I smelled something really good and I was hungry and they were making those really good sweet buns in the kitchen and I was only gonna take one, but then I knocked a bunch of stuff over, and um, yeah. Sorry.” He stood by the bedside, head hanging down like one of the puppies at the stable when they made a mess where they weren’t allowed.

Linhardt stared at him. Why was this boy apologizing to _him_, of all people? Well, there were a lot of reasons why he should be, but this wasn’t one of them. “It’s my father you should be worrying about, not me,” he said eventually.

Caspar winced. “He’s not gonna be half as mad as my father if he finds out,” he said.

“You haven’t heard my father tell somebody off before,” said Linhardt. “It goes on for _ages. _It’s dreadfully boring.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t seen _my _father get so mad he punches a hole through the wall.”

Linhardt blinked. “I wouldn’t like to see that,” he said.

“Didn’t think so. Hey, um, so, can I stay here for a bit? If they can’t find me maybe they’ll forget about me being there.”

Linhardt sincerely doubted the kitchen staff would forget, but found himself strangely hesitant to say no. “All right,” he said, sighing. “You can stay.”

Caspar brightened. “Really? Thanks! You wanna play a game or something?”

“No,” said Linhardt. “I want you to get me some books, so I can read them while you go sit in the corner or something. Quietly.”

“That sounds boring,” said Caspar, but drifted towards the bookshelf regardless. He picked a book seemingly at random and took it down, inspecting the cover and then opening it. “Whoa. Can you _read _these?”

“Of course,” said Linhardt. “You can’t?”

“I-I can read!” said Caspar defensively. “Mostly. A little. But this stuff is really hard! Books are better with pictures, anyway.”

“Picture books are for infants,” said Linhardt. 

“Hey! I’m not an infant! I’m almost seven.”

“Really? And you can’t read?”

“I just said—“ the boy’s voice was rising in agitation. Well, good. Served him right for barging in here, anyways.

“Are you going to bring me a book or not?” said Linhardt, interrupting him.

“Fine,” said Caspar, turning back to the shelf. He scanned the shelves—it took him much longer than it would have taken Linhardt, of course. Finally, he took one down. “Oh, I know this one! Goneril and the Green Knight!”

“Yes, I’ve read it before. Although it’s been a while...”

Caspar opened the book, scanning the pages. “Father was reading it to us, but  he never finished ‘cause he got really busy.  I really wanted to know how it ended, too.”

“Well,” said Linhardt, “At the end, the Green Knight turns out to be—“

“Hey! Don’t tell me! That’s no fair!” said Caspar.

“I thought you wanted to know,” said Linhardt.

“I do, but...oh, hey, I know! _You _can read it to me!” Caspar beamed as if he’d just come up with a brilliant idea.

Linhardt stared at him. “Why would I do that?”

“Because...uh...” he shrunk a little. “I don’t know. I just thought...”

Linhardt watched him for a moment.  As annoying as this whole disturbance was, it had at least broken up the  monotony of the day. So...perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible. He sighed again. “All right. Give it here.”

“Huh?” Caspar looked up, surprised. “Really? Are you sure?”

“I suppose,” said Linhardt grudgingly.

Caspar smiled again, so brightly it was like the light of the sun. Linhardt wasn’t sure he’d ever made anybody smile like that before. Usually they were frowning. Because he was ill, or because he’d fallen asleep somewhere strange, or because he wasn’t acting enough like a noble child ought to. But Caspar was smiling. “Thanks!” he said cheerfully, and brought the book over to the bed.

Linhardt took it from him. “Which part were you at?”

“Uh, oh, I think it was after the lord gave Goneril the boar’s head on the third night,” said Caspar. 

“I’ll start there, then,” said Linhardt, flipping through the pages until he got to that part, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t read aloud in a long time—his mother used to sit with him sometimes, when he was still learning. For some reason, he was a little nervous. “Here we are... ‘_The lord, with merry jest, and laugh of gladsome glee...’”_

It took him nearly an hour to finish the tale, and Caspar sat in the chair next to the bed, raptly attentive, for all of it.

“So they _didn’t _have a big fight after all?” said Caspar, when it was done. “Aww...I was really looking forward to that!”

“It’s a fable,” said Linhardt. “It’s not supposed to...” a yawn cut off the rest of his sentence. He hadn’t realized how tired he’d gotten.

“Ugh, that’s no good,” said Caspar. “Stories about fighting are way better. Someday, I’m gonna be a knight, and I’m gonna go on all kinds of adventures! And fight a bunch of evil guys.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Linhardt sleepily. “You have fun with that.”

“Beats sitting around in a stuffy old room all day,” said Caspar.

That roused Linhardt slightly. “I’m _sick_,” he said.

“You can’t be sick forever,” said Caspar. “That’s stupid.”

“The doctor said I might be,” said Linhardt.

“Well, the doctor is stupid, then,” said Caspar. “Everybody knows all you need to do to get better is get lots of sleep and some fresh air. And soup.”

“If it was that easy, I'd have been cured a long time ago,” said Linhardt sourly.

“S-sorry,” said Caspar, looking sheepish. “I didn’t mean...uh, sorry.”

Linhardt shook his head. “Never mind. Just...I’m tired. You should go.”

“Okay...” said Caspar. “Um...thanks for letting me stay in here. And reading. You’re really good at it.”

“It was no trouble,” said Linhardt, a little surprised by his own response. It really _hadn’t _felt like so much of a hassle. He was almost sorry that he couldn’t keep his eyes open much longer.

Caspar looked towards the door, hopping down from the chair. “I haven’t heard anybody out there for a while. So hopefully everything’s all  calmed down. Alright. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, Linhardt!”

“Bye...” said Linhardt, eyes already drifting shut.

It was night by the time he woke up again, and somebody was in his room. A servant. She was over by the bookshelf, replacing the books that had been on his bedside table. And... _Goneril and the Green Knight. _

“Oh! Master Linhardt,” she said, turning to face the bed when she heard the bedsheets rustle. “You’re awake.”

“Yes,” he said. “What time is it?”

“It’s well past dinner,” she said, “But I’m sure I can have something—well, there was a disturbance in the kitchen earlier, but if you’re hungry...”

“What happened in the kitchen?" he asked.

“There was a small fire,” she said. “Nothing to worry about though! It was taken care of right away. One of the knights thought they had seen Count Bergliez’s son hanging around there before it happened, but we couldn’t find him after...oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to go on like that...”

“I don’t mind,” said Linhardt, slowly beginning to understand. Count Bergliez. Linhardt had met him once, not so long ago...the old Count had passed away, his father had said, and this was the new one. “The Count’s son. What was his name?”

“I believe it started with a C...” said the servant. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite remember.”

“It's all right,” said Linhardt. “Thank you. If there’s any food left in the kitchen, I wouldn’t mind it.”

“Yes, Master Linhardt,” said the servant, bowing before she left the room, and leaving Linhardt alone with his thoughts.

So it had been him. Caspar...he was a noble, after all. He hadn’t acted much like other noble children Linhardt had met, but then again, Linhardt didn’t either.

Maybe...maybe it would be nice, if they met again.  He wouldn’t mind that.


	2. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt and Caspar meet for the second time in the gardens of the Imperial Palace, and officially become friends. Also, Ferdinand is there.

It was a perfect day for a nap outside. Warm, sunny, with white clouds blotting the sky. Not to mention it was a great excuse to get away from the noble’s council Linhardt’s father had dragged him to, all the way to the palace in the capital.

He almost wished he were still ill, so he wouldn’t have to participate in such events. But since his father had found a new doctor, he’d been falling sick less often. He supposed that was good. He _did _miss having people not having expectations of him, though.

At least the gardens here were lovely. Lots of soft patches of grass, shady trees, and hedges for privacy.  The flowers were nice to look at, too. Hopefully, he thought, settling down under a big tree, nobody would come here looking for him.

It didn’t take long for him to doze off. The sun was so warm, and there wasn’t much of a breeze... a dream was just beginning to come to him when he was suddenly awoken by the sound of a voice nearby.

“Hey! Get back here! Aw...come on, lemme catch you!”

Linhardt opened his eyes, reluctantly. He thought he recognized the voice. But from where...oh. He could see its owner now, crouching in the bed of flowers on the opposite side of the path from Linhardt’s tree and looking dismayed. And Linhardt did recognize him; it was the boy who had intruded in his bedroom unannounced some months ago...Caspar. Count Bergliez’s son.

He considered not saying anything. He could just close his eyes again, and Caspar would go on doing whatever it was he was doing, and that would be that. But he was just a  _little _ curious. A little. And it would be a shame if Caspar ruined the flowers by tromping all over them.

“I don’t think you’re meant to stand in the flowerbeds,” he called. Caspar’s head whipped up in surprise, looking around for the voice. Linhardt raised one hand in a lazy wave. “Over here.”

Caspar looked at him for a moment, frowning. Then his eyes lit up. “Oh!  Hey! Aren’t you that boy who was sick all the time?  Linden...um...”

“Linhardt. Von Hevring,” said Linhardt. “And you’re Caspar of House Bergliez.”

Caspar picked his way out from the flowerbed, crossing the path towards Linhardt’s tree. “Oh, yeah. Guess I didn’t introduce myself right  last time . Are you lying there  like that ‘cause you’re still sick?”

“No,” said Linhardt, making no move to get up. “I just get tired a lot.”

“Okay then,” said Caspar easily.

“What are you doing out here?” said Linhardt.

“I was trying to catch some grasshoppers. Somebody inside told me if you catch a bunch and make ‘em into a stew and eat ‘em you can jump as high as they do!”

Linhardt frowned. “They were lying,” he said.

“What? Nuh-uh. You don’t know that,” said Caspar.

“Yes, I do. Insects aren’t magic. That’s not how it works.”

Caspar’s hands tightened into fists and he glared off in the direction of the  palace. “I can’t believe he lied to me! What a jerk. I’m gonna beat him up!”

“If it was another noble, you’d just get in trouble,” said Linhardt.

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna let him get away with it,” said Caspar hotly.

“Why not?” said Linhardt.

Caspar looked back at him, confused. “Huh? Because...lying is wrong,” he said.

“It seems like a lot of trouble, though,” said Linhardt.

“Yeah, well, I hate liars. And thieves. _And _rain.”

“What’s the matter with rain?”

“It just makes everything all wet and gross, and you can’t go outside, and ugh.” Caspar made a face.

“I like rain,” said Linhardt. “Rainy days are the best ones to spend inside reading.”

“Yeah, but that’s boring. I wanna go outside and practice swords and things.”

“Training,” muttered Linhardt distastefully.

“Yeah!” said Caspar. “Father says if I can land a hit on him with the training sword, I can use a real one. I think I’m gonna be able to do it pretty soon! I almost had him last time.”

Linhardt looked over Caspar, dubiously. He’d  met Count Bergliez once before, and  his impression was that the Count was one of the scariest people he had ever seen. His eyes were cold, like ice, and although he wasn’t tall like Linhardt’s father, he looked as though he were strong enough to lift a whole horse.

Caspar’s eyes were the same colour as his father’s, Linhardt saw now, but they seemed warmer somehow. More like the sky. And he definitely didn’t look like he could even budge a horse. “Did you really?” Linhardt asked.

Caspar’s eyes narrowed. “Huh? You saying I can’t?”

“It seems unlikely,” said Linhardt. “I’ve seen your father. He looks strong.”

“He is! But I’m gonna be stronger. Someday.”

“Hmm,” said Linhardt. “If you say so.”

“Yeah, I do,” said Caspar, glowering. “Just you watch. I’m gonna be the strongest in all of Fodlan!”

“All right,” said Linhardt, because there didn’t seem to be a point to arguing about this further.

Thankfully this response seemed to satisfy Caspar, who grinned and folded his hands behind his  head. “ Heh heh.  And I’ll even—“

He was interrupted by the sound of another voice. “Hail and well met, fellow nobles!”

Both Linhardt and Caspar looked towards the source of it. Another boy around their age was walking towards them along the path, smartly dressed in shiny black shoes and a white silk scarf around his neck. He didn’t step off the path when he reached where Linhardt’s tree was, but stopped and executed a bow in their direction. “Uh, yeah,” said Caspar, “Hi.”

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir,” said the new boy, looking quite pleased with himself. “Heir to House Aegir, which means someday I will be Prime Minister. My father said I should introduce myself to the other noble children from dis...distingish..._important _houses because we will all be leading the Empire someday.”

Ugh. He was exactly the kind of person Linhardt had been hoping to avoid. “Linhardt von Hevring,” he said tiredly. “Heir to House Hevring.”

“I’m Caspar of House Bergliez,” said Caspar, frowning slightly. “But I’m only the second son. My brother’s gonna inherit.”

“Ah, I see,” said Ferdinand, then looked at Linhardt disapprovingly. “Isn’t it rude to not stand up to greet another noble?”

Linhardt glared back. This was why he hated socializing with other members of the nobility. They had so many stupid  _rules _ and  _expectations. _ It was so exhausting. 

But before he could say anything, Caspar stepped forward. “Hey, leave him alone. He’s tired ‘cause he used to be sick all the time, okay?”

Ferdinand looked taken aback. “Oh...I am sorry,” he said, bowing again. “I did not know you were not well.”

“It’s okay,” said Linhardt, taken aback himself. 

“Well...um, then, I should go back to the palace,” said Ferdinand. “But thank you for the introductions.”

“Sure,” said Caspar. “See ya, uh, Ferdinand.”

“Goodbye,” said Linhardt. _And good riddance._

Ferdinand departed, back towards the palace. “What a bother,” said Linhardt, when he was out of sight.

“The way he talked was funny,” said Caspar, pulling a face. “I’m glad _I _don’t gotta talk like that.”

“Mm,” said Linhardt. “It seems like a pain.” He paused, and looked at Caspar again. “Are you really the second son of your house?”

“Yeah,” said Caspar, then his face fell. “Oh...do you not want to be friends with me ‘cause I’m not gonna inherit anything?”

“No,” said Linhardt, before what Caspar had said sunk in. “Wait. Did you want to be friends?”

“Y-yeah?” said Caspar. 

They both stared at each other. “I wouldn’t mind that,” said Linhardt, cautiously. Nobody had ever asked him to be their friend before. It felt...nice.

Caspar’s face lit up, even more brightly than it had when Linhardt had agreed to read to him all those months ago. “All right! This is gonna be great!”

“Yes,” said Linhardt, feeling a smile creep onto his face. “I think so, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendship!! and ferdie I guess
> 
> I actually really like Ferdinand but he must have been such an insufferable child haha.
> 
> Also hi, please share your feelings with me :3


	3. Lightning Strikes Thrice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thunderstorm breaks out while Linhardt is visiting the von Bergliez estate, and he learns something about his new friend.

It was raining outside. 

Linhardt stood in the stables of the von Bergliez estate, listening to the staccato pattering of the drops hitting the roof. He’d been brought here by his father, yet again forced out of the house in order to gain ‘experience’ with the world of politics. 

So far, Linhardt could safely say he had no interest whatsoever in the political sphere, and in fact found it all needlessly complicated and boring. But he hadn’t minded coming along on this trip. Actually, he found himself looking forward to it, despite the necessity of travel.

Because Caspar lived here. And they were friends. 

Friends. The concept was still odd to him, as if it didn’t quite fit. The closest thing to friends Linhardt had ever had before were books, and the cats that lived at his family’s summer estate. Before, he’d been bedbound so often that he’d resigned himself to never making any human friends at all. He didn’t particularly mind the thought; nobles were boring, and servants were almost as tiresome to interact with. 

But he liked Caspar. Caspar didn’t seem to mind if Linhardt didn’t act properly, or that he got tired so easily. 

The only problem was, Linhardt didn’t know where he was.

He hadn’t wanted to ask, when he and his father had arrived and were greeted by the Count, as well as the Count’s oldest son. Then he’d been subjected to smalltalk over tea, after which he’d finally managed to escape and make his way here, as far away from other people as possible.

So here he stood, looking out through the open doorway and watching raindrops fall. The sky had been grey all morning, and now, as Linhardt watched, the rain was picking up—and the sky flashed suddenly.

Oh, a storm. And he was in such a good place to watch it from. He counted the seconds until the thunder—he’d read that one could measure the distance of a storm like that—and twelve passed before the sky rumbled, loud enough to shake the building. 

It was going to be a good one, Linhardt could tell. If he wasn’t able to meet Caspar, at least there was this. 

The thought had just passed his mind when the sound of running footsteps reached his ears, and seconds later, somebody bolted through the open door and nearly ran straight into him.

“Whoa!” said the person, skidding to a stop. 

It was Caspar. Breeches muddied, buttons of his shirt done up wrong, hair plastered to his head from the rain. 

“Shouldn’t you be more careful where you’re running?” chided Linhardt, even as a warm fluttery feeling of gladness rose in his chest.

“Linhardt?” said Caspar, surprised. Then he smiled, and the feeling in Linhardt’s chest got warmer. “There you are! I was looking all over for you. Father said you’d be coming today but I was outside training, and then you weren’t at the house, so I was—“

Thunder rumbled again, and Caspar jumped, face going pale.

“Are you scared of the thunder?” said Linhardt.

“What? N-no! I’m not...it just surprised me!” said Caspar, although he was edging away from the door. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” said Linhardt. “It’s only sound.”

“I know that! I’m not scared,” said Caspar. In the distance, the sky flashed as a jagged fork of lightning split it, and he flinched away from it.

“Hmm,” said Linhardt doubtfully.

“Look,” said Caspar, cheeks flushing, “It’s not...”

“I don’t mind it if you’re afraid,” said Linhardt. “Why would I?”

Caspar relaxed a little. “Really? But...” And again thunder boomed, louder than before. Caspar yelped, jumping away from the door. 

“Let’s go more inside,” said Linhardt, reaching for Caspar’s sleeve. He tugged the other boy along until they got to the tack room, which was windowless and smelled of leather and oil. The sound of rain against the rooftop was still loud, but at least they were away from the lightning flashes. There weren’t any chairs or benches in the room, but after a moment’s hesitation, Linhardt pulled Caspar over to sit on the floor against the wall. 

Caspar looked down at the floor, playing with a piece of straw. “...I’m not scared of thunder,” he said after a moment.

“All right,” said Linhardt.

Caspar’s shoulders hunched. “I’m not!”

Linhardt frowned. “Why do you think I would care?” he said. “_I’m_ afraid of ghosts.”

Now Caspar looked up, surprised. “You are?”

“Yes,” said Linhardt. “I don’t like to leave my room alone at night.”

Another peal of thunder rocked the building. Caspar shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, legs pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. “I’m not scared of thunder,” he said again, and then, “...I just don’t wanna get struck by lightning.”

“Ah,” said Linhardt. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

“It _could_ happen,” said Caspar. “It happened to a friend of one of the knights who works for my father. He told me about it.”

“That sounds interesting,” said Linhardt. “What happened?”

“Uh...he said it happened during the big fight with Dagda and Brigid. His friend was keeping watch outside during a storm and there was this _huge_ flash of lightning, but they didn’t realize what happened ‘til later when they found him and he was all burned up and dead.” Caspar had opened his eyes again, but he still looked anxious.

“He was probably wearing armor and carrying a sword,” said Linhardt.

“Huh? Yeah, probably,” said Caspar. “So?”

“Metal attracts lightning,” Linhardt explained. “And it’s attracted to taller objects, like trees. So it should be safe if you’re not carrying metal or standing in a big field.”

“...How come you know all this?” said Caspar, incredulous.

“I read it in a book.”

Another crack of thunder. Caspar’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t seem as frightened as he had before. He looked a little...awed. “Wow. You know a lot of stuff, Linhardt. You’re really smart.”

People had called Linhardt smart before. Usually adults, when they caught him reading a big book, or if he mentioned something he had learned about. But he’d never really liked it. They laughed when they said it, or used a tone of voice that meant they found it funny, for some reason. 

He’d never met somebody who seemed honestly impressed. And he wasn’t sure what to say in response. 

“Anybody can read,” he said, shrugging to offset the strange feeling. “It’s all written down in books.”

“Yeah,” said Caspar, “But that’s boring and I never remember any of it anyways.”

“It’s not boring for me,” said Linhardt.

Thunder boomed again, so loud this time it sounded as though the sky itself were splitting apart. Caspar went pale and scooted closer to Linhardt, their shoulders bumping. “What if it hits the stable, though?” he said fearfully. “And sets it on fire?”

“I don’t think it will,” said Linhardt. “The trees around here are taller anyways.” Caspar was still soaking wet from being in the rain, and now that he was sitting closer, Linhardt could feel the damp seeping through his own clothes where they were touching. But to his surprise, he found he didn’t really mind. 

“Okay,” said Caspar, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “It’s not gonna hit us. It’s not gonna hit us. It’s not gonna...”

“What are you doing?” said Linhardt.

“My father says the more you say something, the more true it gets,” said Caspar. 

Linhardt nodded, then sat back and thought about this as Caspar continued his chant, flinching only slightly as thunder rent the air once more—it wasn’t as loud as it had been before. “I wonder if that’s true,” said Linhardt eventually. “I should test it.”

“My father wouldn’t lie to me,” said Caspar, with confidence. “So it’s definitely true.”

“If it _is_ true,” said Linhardt, “Then you saying so would make it moreso. But if it isn’t, it’s all just a big waste of time.”

“It’s gotta be true,” Caspar insisted. “Father hates wasting time.”

“I’ll have to try it, then,” said Linhardt. “But it can’t work for everything. I couldn’t change the colour of the sky by saying it’s not blue.”

“Yeah, but it’s _not_ blue,” said Caspar. “Right now it’s grey. And sometimes it’s red and orange, or really dark with stars.”

“Hmm,” said Linhardt. “You have a point.”

Thunder rumbled again, this time definitely sounding further away. The storm was moving on. Caspar glanced up at the sound, but seemed less tense than before. 

“Should we go back to the manor?” said Linhardt, because he was getting chilly, and Caspar’s clothes were still wet and that had to be awfully unpleasant. Not to mention Linhardt was getting sleepy from sitting still too long, and he didn’t want to get scolded for falling asleep in the stable.

Caspar chewed his lip uncertainly. “I guess we should...” he said.

“There shouldn’t be any danger now,” said Linhardt.

Caspar looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” he said. Then he got to his feet, and turned back to Linhardt, holding out a hand. “C’mon.”

Linhardt blinked. Cautiously, he reached up towards Caspar’s hand, who grabbed it with a grin before pulling Linhardt to his feet. “Thank you,” said Linhardt, brushing the dirt and straw from the floor off his clothes.

“Sure,” said Caspar, and then, “Oh! Hey, you’re taller than me! That means the lightning would hit you first anyway, right?” 

_No_, Linhardt almost said. If the lightning struck him while Caspar was standing nearby, the effect would essentially be the same. But Caspar looked so...bright. And Linhardt didn’t like him to look the way he did during the storm, small and afraid. So he said instead, “I suppose.”

Caspar laughed. “Great! So, if there’s another storm, we should get together again. It’ll be perfect!”

“Yes,” Linhardt agreed. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the lost items you can find while wandering around the monastery is a charm to ward off lightning strikes. I was surprised to find out that it actually belongs to Caspar. I don't think it comes up anywhere outside of that but ya boi REALLY doesn't like storms, it seems. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always drop me a line! :D


	4. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caspar runs away from home, and ends up at Linhardt's house.

It was six days after Linhardt’s tenth birthday when the news came. He was sitting at the dining room table for breakfast, nodding off into his bowl of porridge, while his father went over the reports and messages he’d received for the day.

Unexpectedly, his father laughed. The sound startled Linhardt awake; his father was not usually given to mirth. And yet there he was, chuckling over something written in the piece of paper he was holding.

“What is it, darling?” said Linhardt’s mother. She’d been well enough to join them this morning, but still looked pale.

Linhardt’s father shook his head. “You might find this interesting, Linhardt,” he said, still smiling. It was a smile Linhardt wasn’t quite sure he liked.

“What is it?” he said suspiciously.

“It seems your little friend...the Bergliez boy, he’s run away from home.” He chuckled again. “His father must be truly desperate if he’s sending _us _the news. That, or he already knows the boy is in our territory...”

L inhardt was definitely awake now. Caspar had run away? But why? “When?” he asked instead, because he couldn’t imagine getting a useful response for his other questions.

His father stroked his beard thoughtfully, gazing over the letter. “It doesn’t say. It must have been some days ago; that man would never have informed  _me _ of all people if the boy were still within his grasp. Clever lad, if he’s been able to evade his pursuers for  this long.”

Linhardt’s mind whirred with possibilities. Caspar was reckless, certainly, and stubborn even moreso, but running away from home seemed like a lot, even for him. He didn’t have enough information to go on. Perhaps later he could sneak into his father’s study and read the letter himself.

But until then...a wave of sleepiness passed over him again.

“I do hope the boy is all right,” said his mother.

“If he’s anywhere near as tenacious as his father, he’ll be just fine,” said his father. “Linhardt, do keep an eye open. If you see anything...”

“Yes, Father,” said Linhardt, and yawned.

“A figurative eye will suffice,” said his father, sighing.

After breakfast, Linhardt made his way out to the garden, intending to nap under his favorite tree. He didn’t have lessons today, and nobody would come out here to bother him, at least...

Which is what he thought, until only seconds after he leaned back against the trunk, the leaves above him rattled.

“Hey, Linhardt,” whispered a voice. “Is anybody else around?”

“Go away, Caspar,” mumbled Linhardt, already half asleep. Then for the second time that morning, he found himself jolted unexpectedly awake. “Caspar?”

“Yeah, it’s me!” said the tree. Linhardt looked up. Sure enough, there was Caspar, looking muddied and unkempt and perched on a branch high in the tree. He waved.

“What are you doing here?” said Linhardt. “...How did you get here?”

“I’ll tell you, but is anybody gonna see me if I come down?”

Linhardt looked around,  mostly just to reassure him. “No,” he said.

“Alright, hold on a second,” said Caspar, and tossed a bag down on the ground before climbing down, jumping from the last set of branches and staggering as he landed. Linhardt was about to admonish him for it when Caspar turned to him, and Linhardt fully saw his face.

He looked even dirtier and scruffier up close, but what caught Linhardt’s attention was the ugly-looking bruise on the left side of his face, swelling his eye partly shut with a deep, mottled purple, yellowing at the edges.  There was a cut on his eyebrow too, that had mostly scabbed over. “What did you do  to yourself this time?” said Linhardt, sighing as he reached out.  Although he was only just beginning to learn healing magic, his Crest had always given him the ability to soothe wounds, if only slightly. 

Caspar flinched back from him momentarily before allowing Linhardt to lay  a hand on his face. “Oh, I...” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “Um...look, never mind.”

Linhardt frowned, but didn’t push him. Caspar wasn’t capable of hiding anything for very long. “ How come you’re here?” he asked instead. 

Caspar puffed up his chest. “I ran away from home,” he declared.

“I already knew that,” said Linhardt, removing his hand. The bruise looked a little better, some of the swelling around Caspar’s eye having gone down. 

“What?!” he said, then deflated. “How did you...”

“My father got the news this morning. Your father must really want to find you if he told mine. I thought they were fighting again.”

“He...told your father?” he looked uncomfortable again. “Well, I’m not going back.”

Linhardt wanted to ask why he’d run away, but he sensed that Caspar wouldn’t be willing to answer, and it seemed like too much trouble at the moment to try to pry it out of him. “What are you going to do?” he asked instead.

“I’m gonna live in the woods and eat bears and become a mercenary,” said Caspar, with confidence.

“I certainly hope you’ll find time to bathe,” said Linhardt.

“Well, there’s gotta be rivers and streams and stuff,” said Caspar. 

“Mhmm...” said Linhardt. “Okay, but...how come you came here, then?”

“Huh? Because...” Caspar trailed off. “Oh, yeah! It was your birthday the other day, right? Here, I got you something!” Grinning, he reached into his pocket and rustled around. Linhardt briefly feared for whatever he might pull out, but to his surprise, what Caspar pulled out was...a ribbon. He held it out to Linhardt. “I knew your hair was getting kinda long, so...uh, I didn’t have a lot of money but the shop lady said this one was good. I think she thought I was getting it for a girl, though.”

Linhardt took it. The material was  white, soft and smooth  to touch —silk, he thought. And it seemed to be spelled against dirt and wear. “Thank you,” he said, unexpectedly touched. 

Caspar’s face went a little red. “Ah...haha, no problem,” he said. “Feels weird, you thanking me.”

“Then I won’t next time,” said Linhardt. “You know, if you’re caught here, my father will probably make you go home. Or he’ll keep you here until your father agrees to whatever he wants.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Caspar, making a face. “Ugh. I guess I better go...but I’m gonna come back to visit soon, okay?”

“There are knights everywhere looking for you, though,” said Linhardt. “And wild beasts, in the forest.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Caspar. “You worry too much.”

“You never worry at all,” retorted Linhardt. “You should at least stay until my father stops looking for you around here.”

“Uh...stay where?” said Caspar. “I can’t go inside.”

“Let me think,” said Linhardt, pondering. He could hardly hope to hide Caspar in his room...the library, perhaps? There were enough nooks and crannies in there to—no, it was Caspar they were talking about, there was no way that could end in anything but disaster. An unused guest room? That would be difficult. Maybe... “Oh,” he said, “I’ve got it. There’s a wing to the manor that’s not being used. Father meant to have it fixed up, but he hasn’t gotten around to it. Nobody’s been there in ages.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Caspar. “That’s great! Thanks, Linhardt.”

“I don’t think I like you thanking me, either,” said Linhardt, then yawned. “Let’s hurry up and sneak you in there. I’m sleepy.”

“You’re always sleepy,” complained Caspar, but not like he really meant it. “Okay, okay, let’s go.”

I t wasn’t exceptionally difficult to sneak Caspar inside the closed-off wing. Linhardt simply took him to a window on that side of the house, and then went around and unlocked it from the inside. The most trouble he had was attempting to pull Caspar up through the window.

“You’re....heavy,” he gasped, tugging on Caspar’s arm as he scrabbled up from outside.

“You just don’t train enough,” said Caspar back, then, “Whoa!” as he suddenly tumbled through the window frame, landing directly on top of Linhardt.

It took a moment for them to untangle themselves, but finally they managed, and Caspar helped Linhardt up before looking around. They were in a dusty bedroom, bed unmade and unused,  cobwebs gathering in the corners. “Spooky,” said Caspar. 

“Yeah...I probably won’t visit at night,” said Linhardt. “I’ll see if I can get you a blanket, and some food. Later. And you can tell me all about why you ran away.”

“Y-yeah...” said Caspar. “All right.”

“But right now, I’m just...going to...” Linhardt climbed onto the bare mattress, eyes already drifting shut. All of this was just too much excitement for one day.

When he woke up, a shaft of sunlight was coming in through the window, and Caspar was asleep on the opposite side of the bed. Linhardt wondered if he should wake him up. Perhaps not yet; he still needed to fetch a blanket for Caspar anyways. And he could stop by the kitchen to see if he could filch some food.

Luckily,  no one ever asked what Linhardt was up to. It was the advantage of being seen as strange. Within the hour, he had managed to procure some fresh bread from the kitchen, as well as a warm blanket from an out of the way linen closet, before he headed back to the room.

C aspar awoke with a jolt at the sound of the door being closed behind Linhardt, sitting up and looking around wildly before seeing Linhardt. “Oh...it’s just you,” he said.

“Who did you think it would be?” said Linhardt, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. He held out the napkin he’d wrapped the bread into to Caspar. “Here.”

Caspar’s face lit up. “ Food? All right!”

“You’re going to choke if you keep—“ Linhardt frowned, shaking his head as he watched Caspar tear into the bread like a starving beast. “You didn’t answer me. Who did you think it was?”

“I’unno,” said Caspar, around a mouthful of food. He swallowed. “I’ve been sleeping in barns and stuff, so I’d always hear a bunch of weird sounds at night. It was hard to sleep.”

“Ugh. I ought to get you some new clothes, too,” said Linhardt, eyeing Caspar’s torn and muddied attire. “How long have you been wearing those?”

“Hey, I did bring more clothes! But they got dirty too.”

“Honestly, Caspar. What were you thinking? Why would you run off like this?”

Thankfully, Caspar did not speak with his mouth full again, taking his time to chew and swallow bef o re he responded. Linhardt suspected this was more out of an unwillingness to answer than politeness, but he would take it. “ Well...it’s just...”

“If you’re not going to tell me—“ Linhardt started.

“My father told me I couldn’t be friends with you anymore!” Caspar blurted out suddenly.

“...Pardon?” said Linhardt.

Caspar’s shoulders hunched in miserably. “He got into a big fight with your father a while ago, yeah? I think that’s why.”

“That’s silly,” said Linhardt. “You know they’ll make up, they always do. There was no need to run away.”

“Yeah, well...” Caspar was looking away from him, frowning. “I said I wanted to come see you for your birthday, and he got _really _mad. We started arguing...he told me to stop being friends with you, and I said no. Then he hit me. And I was just so angry! There’s no way I could stand up to him. It’s not fair, Linhardt!”

“Is that what happened to your face?” said Linhardt, feeling something cold settle over him. His own father had never raised a hand to him, and Linhardt couldn’t imagine him doing so. The thought of Caspar’s father, imposing as he was, striking his friend made his stomach churn.

Caspar nodded reluctantly. “I’m gonna get real strong,” he said. “Even stronger than him. And then I’m gonna beat him. Someday.”

“Let me try to heal it again,” said Linhardt, reaching out. He concentrated harder this time, the faint glow of healing magic radiating from his fingers. When he pulled his hand away again, the bruise was somewhat less dark, and the cut on his eyebrow had mostly healed over.

Caspar, who had closed his eyes for this, blinked them open. “It’s amazing that you can do that,” he said. “I tried studying some magic a while ago...it  was just really confusing .”

“That’s because you do all your thinking with your fists,” said Linhardt.

“Heh heh. Yeah, I...hey, wait, are you making fun of me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” said Linhardt, straight-faced. “Besides, the only reason I’m so good at it is because of my Crest.”

“Right, yeah. Argh, I wish I had a Crest that made me stronger or something,” said Caspar.

“You don’t need one,” said Linhardt. “I’ve seen you fight.”

“Okay, but I could do it _better,_” said Caspar. “I bet if I had a Crest I could win against my father...”

“Actually, I was reading some studies the other day—“

“Ugh, no,” groaned Caspar. “That stuff’s so _boring!_”

“Well then,” sniffed Linhardt, “I _won’t _tell you that statistically non Crest-bearers outperform those with Crests when compared across multiple abilities.”

“I dunno what any of that means,” said Caspar.

“It means that typically, Crest-bearers have a tendency to rely on that power too much, and become lacking in other areas.”

“Ohh,” said Caspar. “So I just gotta become good at a bunch of stuff. I can do that. And _then _I can beat up my father! Probably. He’s still really strong, though...”

“I don’t see why you feel that you have to,” said Linhardt. “There’s no reason for it.”

“Huh? Sure there is. It’s for justice!”

“For justice,” echoed Linhardt skeptically.

“Yeah, because he was a jerk. It’s not fair that he said we can’t be friends. But if I beat him, that means he can’t force me to do anything!”

“I don’t know if...” Linhardt shook his head. “Never mind. I’m tired of talking about this already.”

“I’m right, though,” said Caspar.

“If you say so,” said Linhardt.

T he rest of the day passed without much incident.  Caspar got bored around the middle of the afternoon, so Linhardt fetched a board game and took it upon himself to teach Caspar how to play.

“Uh...so...this one moves like....this?” said Caspar, hesitantly placing his piece down on the board.

“No, no,” said Linhardt. That one can only move in straight lines.”

Caspar replaced that piece and picked up a different one to move. “Okay, so how about  _this?_ ”

Linhardt stifled a yawn. “That one can only move _diagonally_.”

“I don’t get this game at all,” said Caspar, sitting back with a frown.

“Mm-hmm,” said Linhardt, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. “You know, maybe I’ll just...take another nap...”

“Aw, no. Linhardt! Don’t fall asleep! Hey!”

But it was too late.

“Wherever did you get that ribbon, Linhardt?” asked his mother, at dinner. “It looks rather fetching.”

“I found it,” said Linhardt. “I thought it would be helpful to keep my hair out of my face.”

“Perhaps it would be better to cut it,” said his father, pointedly.

“Oh, now, dear,” said Linhardt’s mother. “You mustn’t—“ she broke off into a fit of coughing. Both Linhardt and his father stared down at their plates until she had finished. “I’m quite all right,” she said breathlessly.

“I won’t cut my hair,” said Linhardt, into the silence that followed.

“Perhaps if you did...” started his father, then shook his head with a sigh. “Never mind. By the way, I’ve sent some of our men into the surrounding countryside to search for the Bergliez boy. If he’s in our lands, they’ll surely turn him up; the boy can’t hope to evade a company of trained knights.”

Linhardt s aid nothing,  inwardly pleased .  In times like these he was glad for his father’s inflated sense of pride; he overlooked the truth so easily if it didn’t fall inside the box of things he chose to believe.

When he told Caspar later what his father had said, Caspar laughed. “They’re never gonna find me here,” he said, flashing a grin. “No matter how many knights they send.”

“It will probably take them a while to search all our lands,” said Linhardt.

“That means we get to play together every day!” said Caspar.

Linhardt couldn’t help smiling too. “It’ll be fun.” He looked around the room. Dusk had fallen; sunlight was no longer coming in through the window. “I have to go now, though,” he said. “It’s getting dark.”

“Huh? C’mon, Linhardt, stay for a little bit,” said Caspar.

“I can’t,” he said. “My mother will be looking for me. And...” he lowered his voice, “there might be ghosts.”

Caspar, who had leaned in to hear him better, sprung back upright and brandished a fist. “If there’s any ghosts, I’ll fight them for you!” he deflated. “...But I don’t wanna fight your mother. She’s nice.”

Linhardt climbed down from the bed. “You can’t fight ghosts by hitting them anyway,” he said. “That’s why they’re scary.”

“I bet I could,” said Caspar. “We could totally take down a ghost together.”

“I’m not helping you fight a ghost,” said Linhardt, even though his stomach did a little flip at the way Caspar had said ‘together’. “Good night.”

“’Night!” called Caspar cheerfully, and Linhardt slipped out into the abandoned wing. It didn’t feel quite as scary as he thought it would. _Together, _he thought to himself. _We could take down a ghost together._

The next few days followed a similar pattern: sneak scraps from meals, visit Caspar in between lessons and whatever other obligations Linhardt had. He managed to get Caspar a few changes of clothes—they were a little too big on him, but it was an improvement over his dirty ones.

On the third day since Caspar arrived, Linhardt entered the room he was staying in to find Caspar doggedly swinging a training sword, too-long sleeves rolled up as he panted out the number of swings.

“Two-hundred and forty seven! Two hundred and forty eight! Two hundred and forty nine!”

Linhardt edged into the room, not wanting to disturb him.

“Two hundred and fifty! Two...two hundred and...” his next swing faltered.

“That’s quite a lot, isn’t it?” said Linhardt, and Caspar whipped around, startled.

“How long have you been there?” he demanded.

“I just got here,” said Linhardt, sitting on the bed. His gaze fell on Caspar’s eye—he still hadn’t managed to heal the bruise there completely. He itched to be rid of it, so he would stop getting the awful feeling in his stomach every time he saw it, but he’d had his magic lessons today, and wasn’t sure if he could conjure more of it.

“Okay,” said Caspar, putting down the training sword. He was still breathing hard, obviously exhausted.

Linhardt watched him for a moment, not sure what to say. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Caspar quickly, and then, “No. Ugh. I just wanna not be in this room. It’s too small.”

Linhardt frowned. “But if you leave you might get caught.”

“I know, but,” said Caspar, pacing up and down the floor, clearly agitated, “I’m so bored! I can’t just sit around all day.”

This wasn’t a sentiment Linhardt could relate to. He could happily spend his days cooped up in one room, provided there were books. But he could see that it was upsetting his friend. “I can try asking father tonight about the knights who are looking for you,” he said. “He might say how long they’ll be searching for.”

“You will?” said Caspar, turning to him. His eyes were wide and hopeful, slightly desperate, as he broke into a smile. “Thanks, Linhardt.”

Linhardt pulled his legs up to his chest, feeling his face go warm. “I _said _I don’t like it when you thank me,” he mumbled.

“Oh! Right, um, sorry,” said Caspar.

“Never mind,” said Linhardt.

He had more lessons that afternoon, and then finally, it was dinner. His mother wasn’t feeling well, so it was just him and his father. The table always felt so large, when it was just the two of them. Linhardt picked at his food, trying to decide how best to ask his father. He didn’t like to raise troublesome topics, but he’d promised Caspar, after all, so it seemed he had little choice.

“Father...” he began.

“What is it?” said his father. “Eat your food, Linhardt. It’s unbecoming to graze.”

Linhardt put his fork aside. “I just wanted to know—“ he said, but was suddenly interrupted by the door to the dining room banging open.

“Count Hevring!” said the man standing in the doorway, one of the servants. He was wrestling with somebody small and blue-haired.

Linhardt’s heart sank.

“Let me go!” shouted Caspar, struggling mightily. He attempted to bite the man holding him on the arm, but failed when the man adjusted his grip.

Linhardt’s father had stood up from the table. “What is the meaning of this?” he said.

“Well, sir,” said the servant. “One of the gardeners said she thought she saw some movement inside the closed-off wing, so I went to investigate. And I found young Master Linhardt’s friend there. It looks like he’s been there for some time.”

“I see...” said Linhardt’s father. “Thank you. This is quite a valuable find.”

“I’m not going back!” said Caspar defiantly. “You can’t make me!”

Linhardt felt his father’s gaze land on him, and he had to wrench his eyes away from Caspar to meet it. “It’s difficult for me to imagine that you didn’t know of this, Linhardt,” said his father disapprovingly.

Linhardt’s throat felt too dry for him to respond.

His father turned his gaze back to Caspar. “I would be most appreciative if you were to stop behaving in such an uncivilized manner,” he said.

“No!” said Caspar. “You’re gonna make me go back home! And I won’t!”

Linhardt’s father pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Have someone fetch another plate from the kitchen,” he said to the servant. To Caspar, he said, “We’ll speak after dinner. Come and sit. Quietly.”

Caspar looked to Linhardt, who nodded very slightly, and all the fight went out of him. The servant put him down, and for just a moment it seemed as though he might flee, but then he slouched over to the table despondently and took the seat next to Linhardt, staring down at the table with a frown.

Linhardt reached for his hand under the table and squeezed it. Caspar looked at him then, shooting him a quick smile that died even before he looked away again.

A servant from the kitchen brought a plate of food for Caspar, but he ignored it.

“...Aren’t you hungry?” said Linhardt to him, quietly, as he picked up his own fork and knife again.

“No,” said Caspar stubbornly, but his stomach growled.

“There’s no harm in eating,” Linhardt pointed out.

Caspar looked like he wanted to argue with this, but after a moment, his shoulders slumped and he picked up his fork. “Sorry,” he mumbled a few minutes later, around a mouthful of food. “I got caught. Are you gonna get in trouble?”

Linhardt glanced at his father, who had resumed eating with an expression of deliberate calmness. “Probably,” he said.

“You didn’t do anything wrong though,” shot back Caspar.

“I don’t think it matters,” said Linhardt.

“It _should_,” said Caspar.

“I had hoped at least _you_ had better manners than to hold whispered conversations at the dinner table, Linhardt,” said his father.

Linhardt decided things would probably go easier if he didn’t annoy his father further. He shut up. Thankfully, Caspar did too.

After dinner, they were both taken to Linhardt’s father’s study, where his father sat in his comfortable chair behind his desk stacked with paperwork, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk and his fingers steepled. Linhardt and Caspar stood in front of the desk; Caspar was scowling and kicking at the carpet with his toes, and Linhardt stood at ease, resigned to getting this over with as painlessly as possible.

“So,” began his father, “Caspar. Would you care to tell me how you ended up at my estate?”

“I ran away from home,” Caspar answered boldly, “And I’m not going back!”

“Yes. Well. That aside. How long have you been here?”

“A...a couple days,” said Caspar. “Not really long.”

“And how did you get inside?”

Caspar straightened his back. “I snuck in! ...All by myself!”

Linhardt blinked, glancing sidelong at his friend. He hadn’t expected this.

“Hmm,” said his father, skeptically. “And how did you eat? Where did you get those clothes? They’re Linhardt’s, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I stole them,” said Caspar. “A-and I stole food, too! At night. When nobody was around.”

He was a terrible liar. Linhardt was still gazing at him in astonishment when his father turned his gaze on him. “Linhardt. Is this true?” he said, clearly expecting Linhardt to expose the lie.

“W-well,” said Linhardt, stalling.

“Of course it’s true!” burst in Caspar, stepping forward. “Linhardt didn’t do anything!”

Linhardt’s father rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Of course,” he echoed.

Linhardt felt like he was supposed to say something. Maybe he should back Caspar up—or just tell the truth. He didn’t know. It was so confusing. And exhausting. What was the least troublesome path forward?

“Regardless,” said his father, reaching for a quill pen and paper, “I’ll be writing your father. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to learn you’ve been found.”

“No,” said Linhardt, surprising himself. And both Caspar and his father, apparently, because they stopped and looked at him. His heart was pounding. “Don’t make him go back,” Linhardt said, “His father hit him!”

His father’s expression sharpened, and he looked at Caspar again, closely. Caspar turned his face to the side, but the bruise over his eye was still visible. “Is that why you ran away, Caspar?” said Linhardt’s father.

“No,” said Caspar, reluctantly. “I ran away ‘cause he said I couldn’t be friends with Linhardt anymore.”

Linhardt looked back to his father quickly, in time to see him raise an eyebrow. “I see...” he said, then sighed, and put aside the pen, folding his hands on the desk.

Hope filled Linhardt’s heart. “You’re not going to send him back?” he asked.

“No,” said his father. “I was just thinking, perhaps the squabble between Count Bergliez and I has gone on long enough, if it’s come to this. Caspar, I’ll be having words with your father. You may stay here until then.”

Caspar squared his shoulders. “I’m not gonna go back if—“

“Yes, yes,” said Linhardt’s father, waving a hand, “I’m sure we’ll both be able to agree that letting a petty feud get between our children’s friendship to the point where you _ran away from home_ is, frankly, ridiculous.”

“What if he hits him again?” said Linhardt.

His father looked at Caspar again, very seriously. “Does this sort of thing occur often?”

Caspar looked away. “N-no...not really. He only hits us if we do something really bad.”

Linhardt’s father hummed disapprovingly. “Well, I’ll speak to him about that. Speaking of which...Linhardt, you concealed your friend’s presence from me these last few days. You’re not allowed in the library for the rest of the month—and I’ll know if you ask somebody to sneak you books.”

Linhardt sighed, hanging his head. “Yes, Father...”

“Run along, now,” said his father. “And have someone draw your friend a bath, will you?”

“Yes, Father,” said Linhardt.

“Um,” said Caspar, “Thank you? For letting me stay.” He gave an awkward little bow, before Linhardt grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room.

“I need to take a nap,” said Linhardt, once they were out in the hallway. “That was exhausting.”

Caspar rubbed the back of his head, frowning. “You got in trouble because of me...” he said. “Sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Linhardt, yawning. He really _was _tired out, after all that. “He’ll probably forget before the end of the month anyhow.”

“Really?” said Caspar hopefully. “That’s great! But...I guess I’m gonna have to go home after all...”

Linhardt looked at Caspar. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah...” said Caspar. “I kinda miss it. But I still won’t go if we don’t get to be friends.”

“You could live here,” said Linhardt. “But not hiding in a room all the time. Then we could...play all the time...” he leaned against the wall, finding his eyelids suddenly quite heavy.

“Hey—Linhardt! Quit falling asleep everywhere. How do you even do that?” said Caspar.

“It’s easy,” said Linhardt. “Just close your eyes...”

“Ugh...I’ll just carry you. I think I can still remember where your room is,” said Caspar. “Here, get on my back.”

Linhardt complied. He liked resting against Caspar. He was always very warm. Maybe because he had so much energy. Linhardt’s head rested against the back of Caspar’s neck, arms hung loosely over his shoulders. “You need to take a bath,” he said sleepily.

“Yeah, yeah...I can ask somebody to run me one,” he said, continuing down the hall.

“Caspar?” said Linhardt.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we’re friends.”

“Me, too,” said Caspar, and Linhardt could hear the smile in his voice. He smiled back, even though Caspar couldn’t see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha well I ended up writing a bunch of other stuff and getting distracted from this...but this is also longer than I anticipated.
> 
> Please enjoy these children, I love them, also say hi to me please


End file.
